


only comfort, calling late

by acquitarte



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 10:26:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19743805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acquitarte/pseuds/acquitarte
Summary: In the few minutes it took Andrew to reply, Neil began to consider the logistics of his plan. ‘you’re alone right?’ he took the time to text as he pulled his shorts down.





	only comfort, calling late

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Every You Every Me by Placebo

‘ _Wyd?_ ’

Neil read the text and laughed. It would have made sense for the text to have been from Dan, or even Allison. But not Andrew. Andrew only texted like that when he was intentionally aiming for something that resembled light and casual. He only texted like that when he missed Neil and wouldn’t admit it, Neil had learned.

Neil sent back a picture of the cat, sprawled awkwardly over his ankle.

‘...’

‘ _watching something. idk what._ ’ he sent back.

‘ _How do you not know what you’re watching?_ ’ Andrew sent back a few minutes later.

‘ _because i’m not actually watching it? i don’t know - it’s too quiet without you here._ ’ Neil admitted. He was pretty sure it was still the same game he’d turned on. Soccer. Probably. He didn’t actually know for certain - it could have been rugby. Or hurling?

Neil turned off the tv. He wasn’t actually watching it; it was reflexive from when Andrew was around, more than anything. Either he or Nicky had always had the tv on when they lived together, and Andrew had carried on the habit beyond graduation.

‘ _Junkie_ ,’ came the inevitable response. Neil smiled at the response. At the predictability of it.

‘ _i know you are but what am i?_ ’ he sent back, just because he knew it would annoy Andrew.

“ _Josten I swear_ ’ came Andrew’s next text.

‘ _what?_ ’ Neil sent back, his plan formulating slowly. Andrew had somehow been more at ease with phone sex than he had with anything directly physical, but they’d never done this before. It was only at the start of the season that they’d even resigned themselves to getting phones with cameras. It had been Andrew’s idea. Well, Nicky’s, probably. He’d wanted to keep up with their lives more directly, and Andrew had acted like he didn’t want to give in until he did.

In the few minutes it took Andrew to reply, Neil began to consider the logistics of his plan. ‘ _you’re alone right?_ ’ he took the time to text as he pulled his shorts down.

‘ _Obviously?_ ’ Andrew replied almost immediately, followed by, ‘ _Why??_ ’

Neil pulled his lip into his mouth as he took the picture. The lighting was poor, and the image quality was arguably worse. He deleted it as soon as he sent it, but it was still there - there was little denying the image shown in the grainy thumbnail.

‘ _...are you concussed?_ ’

Neil wrapped a hand around himself, trying to bring to mind the feel of Andrew’s hands on him, and sent another picture.

‘ _200_ ’ was all he got in reply. He grinned, victorious.

Neil shifted on the couch, pushing his shorts to his ankles. King yowled in annoyance and promptly disappeared. Neil took a slow breath, trying to force himself into the right mindset. It was still a strangely abstract concept, to partner masturbating with an actual person. With Andrew. Somehow the idea became less strange when he remembered that, in a way, he was doing it with and for Andrew, rather than because the physical need had presented itself.

They hadn’t seen each other in weeks; he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss Andrew. Fortunately they would be playing on the same teams full time after Andrew’s contract ended in another month. He took another picture.

‘ _Josten_ ’

Neil exhaled slightly, pulse quickening.

His phone vibrated to inform him that it was downloading an image. It was of Andrew’s face, expression somewhere between bored and annoyed, at least to the average viewer. But Neil recognized the flush that ran from his cheekbones to the tips of his ears, the slight part to his lips.

He allowed his fingers and camera to drop lower, his next image all the more a tease for what it just barely showed.

‘ _Neil_ ’

Neil could nearly hear Andrew - he knew the tone too well, and delighted in knowing that he was getting to Andrew, even like this. He took another slow breath, remembering the first - only - time Andrew had ever suggested that he touch himself. It had been the first time he’d been allowed to watch Andrew, his way of making Neil look without touching.

The memory, combined with physical inevitability, made him groan. Neil began to stroke himself in earnest. The next picture he sent Andrew might have shown a bit more; his shirt rucked up slightly, a hint of his face. He tried to ignore it in his message history, uncomfortable with the image of himself, though he knew that Andrew would appreciate it. The undeniable fact that it was him, written in the scars as much as the look on his face.

‘ _Fuck_ ’ Andrew sent back. Neil smiled, allowing his eyes to close momentarily. ‘ _Are you trying to make me come back tonight?_ ’read a second text.

Neil couldn’t help but grin at that. He was pretty sure there was no way Andrew would actually do it. His flight was early the next morning, and by all rights he should have been asleep. ‘no. go to sleep.’ he sent back.

His phone vibrated again, downloading another attachment. In spite of the poor quality, he could still make out the veins in Andrew’s hips, the sharp cut of muscle that declared his metabolism’s victory over countless pints of ice cream. He could just barely see the tension in Andrew’s hand where he wrapped it around himself.

He pointedly ignored the noise he made. There was no way to translate that over text anyways. Instead he haphazardly snapped another photo, his hips working on autopilot since he was alone. Neil allowed himself to wonder, if only briefly, what Andrew would feel like on the inside. He knew what it felt like when Andrew sucked him off, when he fucked Neil. The sensations shot across Neil’s brain, firing across his skin in phantom impulses.

The next picture Andrew sent loaded onto his phone screen, this time without the vibration since he had the conversation open. ‘ _I am going to kill you and dump your body in the ocean_ ’ said the message that accompanied it.

‘ _no you’re not_ ’ he sent back.

‘ _Says you._ ’

‘ _alternately…_ ’ he texted, attaching another photo. It was only because Andrew was hundreds of miles away that he could still think coherently. Had they been in the same room, he would have been too far gone for anything other than the steadfast bit of self control that kept him from crossing any of Andrew’s lines. That realization nearly did him in, though he could not pinpoint why. He moaned aloud, immediately embarrassed by himself.

‘ _Fuck_ ’ was all Andrew’s text read. The picture told him far more. Andrew’s hips were lifted off the bed, his grip tight where he fisted his dick. Neil’s brain helpfully supplied a smell that he only associated with Andrew and the heat of his skin, the almost punishing scrape of his nails when he got close faster than he’d planned.

Somehow, Neil managed to snap a picture at nearly the same moment that he came. He didn’t look before he sent it. A few seconds later, when he could almost think again, he flipped his phone open to check that he’d sent it to the right person. He had. He closed his phone again, squeezing his eyes shut until his breathing returned to normal.

With a groan, Neil pulled his shirt over his head and used it to clean up most of the mess. He sat up slowly, waiting for his head to stop spinning before he stood and headed toward the bedroom. His phone started to buzz insistently nearly immediately after he tossed it onto the bed.

Neil flopped diagonally across the bed with a yawn. “Mhmm,” he mumbled into the phone.

“210%. I’m supposed to be on a plane in four hours.”

“Nervous?” Neil asked, his tone teasing in spite of the sincerity of his question. Andrew still hated flying, and Neil hated that he couldn’t be there to help.

“No. Ready to be home,” Andrew replied.

“Me too,” he said, already half asleep.

“You are home, idiot.”

“You know what I mean,” Neil said through another yawn. He thought he heard running water through the phone.

“Go to sleep.” It was a quiet command so familiar by now that the words only brought forth a feeling, rather than a specific memory.

“See you in the morning,” Neil managed, eyes closing.

“Yeah.” He heard the line go dead and flicked the phone shut, only half registering the tiny dip in the mattress as King curled up near his head, followed by a second, more tentative jostling as Sir snuggled behind his knee.


End file.
